It was my decision.
Examining that crude pebble, rolling throughout my palm,
Gripping, then giving with all my might into indifferent, thrashing water
Knowing it would remain. That river does not give much back
Except liberation, inherently accompanying loss.
One, exclusive event
Becomes a catalyst of
Change.
Radical revision of a hushed heart,
Not painful, but relieving,
Dawn of throbbing and beating,
Demonstrating incredibly fierce signs of vitality.
The rust is spent. Shaken off. Who needs it?
I have a world to seize!
You say some things can’t be had.
I say nothing, marching forward.
Now weathered, tumbling down a long, winding river,
beginning coarse and unfriendly, rather rough to the touch
but
Captivating. Always alluring.
Architects carve for those who cannot decide,
I decided.
Rude ridges of rock now cast into darkness
Generating an ideal sequel resting on some foreign beach,
Smooth, polished, defined,
Not on display.
Is it easy to find?
No.
Only the noblest of travelers may come upon this stone,
For its luster only gleams for genuine ingenuity.
Perhaps someone, someday, somewhere,
Will recognize a true treasure.
Not sure what to make of it, but I really liked it; especially the isolation of "change" on its own line and line 9 (heck, all of that stanza, but especially line 9)
ReplyDeleteI think I get it... maybe... but then I read it again and I get a different impression... the image of the stone comes, goes, and returns again, while the middle is all meta...
ReplyDeleteI LOVE it! This nothing other than brilliant. The image of the stone becomes a story which is traced throughout the poem. I love the idea that true treasure does not remain uncovered but on reveals itself to those who have the 'ingenuity' to recognize it. Also, though perhaps unintended, you suggest value, or treasure comes only through a natural process which takes time and patience. Great stuff.
ReplyDeleteIf anything, my subconscious intended that final message. Thanks!
ReplyDelete